


Honesty

by nerdy-flower (baconnegg)



Series: The Shimada Brothers Need Healing [7]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Adults working on themselves while trying to also be good partners, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brief brotherly bonding, Canon Disabled Character, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Honestly this is just Jesse and Hanzo falling in love with each other over and over again, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Intimacy, Jesse POV, Lack of Genji in this one sorry Genji, M/M, Mush content is high and I make no apologies, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Romantic Fluff, Tender masculinity ahoy, The boys argue a couple times but it gets resolved, Vignettes, backstory for Jesse, good communication, hanzo pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 04:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15598371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baconnegg/pseuds/nerdy-flower
Summary: Jesse and Hanzo aren't vulnerable people by nature, but gradually they learn to open up, and that it's worthwhile even when it isn't easy.(Set over the course of the series, but can be read as a stand-alone)





	Honesty

**Author's Note:**

> cw for discussions of past and current mental health struggles, description of a panic attack at the beginning, brief mentions of past suicidal ideation and past character death, overall positive story with Jesse and Hanzo living well in the present despite the problems in their pasts

After three days, Hanzo has slept so long he feels exhausted. Dragging his body out to the couch to numbly watch the one public access channel his television still gets is all he can manage, his mind churning endlessly over the same thoughts, like stones in the stomach of an ancient beast. He counts the hours until his short afternoon shift tomorrow. Another attempt at hiring more staff means fewer hours for him. Less money, until they inevitably call in sick for a week straight and get cut. At least he'll save on groceries this week, he's barely polished off a box of cereal since his last shift. The sugar turning his stomach sour and necessitating sips of stirred ginger ale to spare himself the trouble of getting sick. 

His unreliable, mortifyingly dead-end job is only part of it, this time. Two weeks of minor fuck-ups with virtually everyone he knows have snowballed, culminating in an escalated argument with Genji via text that he's still unsure how to resolve, or how it had even started- damn it. 

It's all his own fault. Standing on the shore of middle age and he still can't hold anything together. At least he's managed to room alone, carve out a damp slice of solitude where he can keep from bothering anyone, keep from hurting anyone more than he already has. 

Except when he has a date with Jesse McCree in less than three hours. 

He belatedly snatches his phone off the stained coffee table, breathes in, breathes out, and types a convincingly apologetic message about food poisoning before skilfully frisbeeing it back beside the remote. No vibration of Jesse's answer. He's probably rightfully annoyed at the last-minute change, but likely believes him, at least. No one argues with gastrointestinal distress. Hanzo tightens the ratty comforter around his throbbing joints. The baseboard heaters do little against the December chill, he hasn't been able to fully warm up for days- no, weeks. 

He must drift off at some point, because he startles awake at a heavy knock at the door. Questioning the landlord's unexpected intrusion, he hears Jesse's familiar idle whistle and freezes. Grabbing his phone, he discovers his message sitting unsent and feels his brain lightly combust. 

He has not showered, changed, or cleaned anything during his three-day pity party. His hair is greasy, there's empty beer cans everywhere- at least he's kept his legs on with the intent of eventually washing his work clothes but this is going to ruin everything. They're still so new- he can't hide any of this in two minutes, and now all of Genji's friends will find out how disgusting he is and- 

Another knock, more impatient. He flips into survival mode, get through this and hate yourself later mode. He pulls a neutral expression and stands, unlocks the door to a smiling face peeping over a stack of aromatic takeaway containers. “Hey, darlin'! I uh, got hungry on the way here so I grabbed your usual- everything alright?” 

“Of course,” Hanzo replies, fully aware of how much he looks and smells like a used gym sock. “My apologies, I overslept-” An impossibly stupid thing to say given that it's after five p.m. He stiffly waves Jesse in. “I'll only be a few moments, please excuse me.” 

He beats a hasty retreat to the bathroom as panic barrels up, burning like bile in his throat. He grabs a few travel wipes from a box he keeps in the cupboard, stripping his shirt and trying in vain to scrub himself with the wet, scratchy fabric. If only he could hop in the shower, or kneel down and wash his hair in a reasonable amount of time. Jesse would finish the date out of politeness, that's the kind of man he is, but surely he's repulsed. Not merely by hygiene, but also by Hanzo's complete inability to act like a normal fucking person for more than five minutes- 

A hand towel helpfully muffles his sobs when they come, short and choked off. Pathetic, that's what he is. There's something fundamentally wrong with him, everyone figured it out eventually. He had foolishly hoped Jesse would find out a little later. 

Once he pulls himself together, he implements the rest of the routine retained from his youth. Flush the toilet, feign washing his hands to rinse ice cold water over his face, above all, avoid looking in the mirror when opening it to retrieve possibly expired eye drops. The effect is convincing when he pulls his shirt back on and meets his own gaze. Only a little redness in his eyes, easily dismissed. 

He exits, heading for the bedroom to change, but there stands Jesse. A few feet away from the door, arms out, expression twisted in concern. “What's wrong, sweetheart? I heard you-” 

“Nothing,” Hanzo bites out, attempting to breeze past him as his frontal lobe is lost in the white heat of shame. “I was blowing my nose. Don't eavesdrop on someone when they're-” 

Jesse catches his shoulder as he grabs the doorknob. Bewildered, Hanzo lets himself be pulled close. Gathered against a warm chest, the arm across his back loose and not confining. Jesse speaks softly against his scalp, voice as rough and comforting as an old blanket fresh from the dryer. “Hey, we don't gotta talk about it. I just want y'to know I'm here for ya, alright?” 

Amélie hugs him from time to time, one-armed and always paired with a salty remark. Genji too, more often, but filled with assumption on his part and guilt on Hanzo's. Jesse has been affectionate from the start, but the overwhelming, genuine kindness in his tone makes Hanzo's eyes burn again- _nonononono he can't do this not now_ -and the gentle stroke of a hand over his back sends them spilling over. With Jesse's shirt matting to his cheek, he vibrates for what feels like an hour. 

The food gets cold. It's a terrible date by every measure. Much later, after Jesse's gone home, Hanzo lies sleeplessly in bed, one of his intrusive loops now being the pleasant circles of Jesse's palm between his shoulders with a whisper of “It's okay, honeybee. Shh, It's okay.” 

*** 

Jesse's jaw feels tight as a mousetrap as he finally climbs the external metal stairs to his apartment. The winter wind rattles through the alley, blowing trash and loose snow in little twisters, stinging his fingers as he fumbles with his keys. He'd just settled in for a nice, relaxing evening with his boyfriend, butts on the couch and drinks in hand, when the phone rang. The security firm he part-times for also covers the local mall, and asked if he could pretty please come in for two hours to cover a scheduling snafu. Probably not even two hours, just until the next shift could arrive. 

Like an idiot, he believed them and promised he'd be back in no time. The manager on the phone sounded rightly frazzled and Hanzo was understanding, content to re-watch old episodes until Jesse's return. Probably much less content when the not-even-two-hours became eight, courtesy of not one but two guards gone completely MIA, multiple shoplifting attempts, and an incident in the men's washroom that there is not enough Maker's Mark in the _world_ to help him forget. 

To top it off, his phone died, though he did manage to send a text after chasing down the kid with the video games down their pants that he probably wouldn't be back shortly. Goddamn, stupid-ass- he's screening his calls from now on. He's not taking another shift like this unless aliens invade, or he needs another cavity filled. 

He fully expects to flop into bed, send an apology message, and sleep the whole thing off. He doesn't expect to turn on the light and find everything tidied up to sparkling and a certain someone fast asleep on the couch- in his sweater, to boot. 

Jesse switches on the bulb over the sink instead, casting low golden light into the open common area, feeling the freshly-vacuumed carpet through his sweaty socks. He kneels down and feels a smile creeping up at the sight of Hanzo, so broad and somehow curled up compactly on one couch cushion. Hair still tied back. The zipper of McCree's favourite “these heating bills are bullshit” hoodie making a railroad track across his cheek, phone clutched in his hand. Probably meant to rest his eyes, just for a minute. “Hey, buttercup. Rise and shine.” 

The dazed squint on Hanzo's face is short, but more than a little adorable. Jesse strokes one cheek and kisses his forehead as he comes to. “You didn't have to stay, sugar, let alone clean up. Want me to drive you home?” 

“Mm, I didn't mind,” Hanzo slurs and blinks, looking somehow younger for being tired. “Knew they pulled you into something stupid,” He tries to sit up and winces. His legs are still on, and Jesse bets they're as red and raw as his arm. “I can catch the bus. What time is it?” 

Jesse cringes as he tells him, then his mouth elects to keep moving. “You gotta work in the morning, d'you wanna just crash here?” 

Hanzo perks up at that, topaz eyes peering back at him. “Ah, only if it's no trouble.” 

“No trouble at all,” Jesse slowly grins and helps him to his feet. “C'mon, I'll lend ya a shirt.” 

Fatigue leaches into that foot-tapping, gut-chewing feeling Jesse's never tolerated well. They've avoided actually-sleeping together through some afternoon delight and a little “oops, got somewhere to be.” He spits his toothpaste into the sink and tries to shake it off. Can't put off these things forever, so he's been told. 

Hanzo's already in bed when he returns, legs tucked beside the nightstand and sheets pulled up to his chest, expression warring between half-asleep and apprehensive. Jesse sets his arm on the nightstand and climbs in, trying to act all natural but plainly failing when Hanzo looks like he's unsure how to approach him. He flicks the light off for cover. “You can hold onto me if ya want, but uh- don't grab me when I'm sleeping, if you can help it. Not to be weird, it's just a- thing.” 

“Thank you for telling me.” Hanzo replies simply, laying his head on Jesse's shoulder, one arm coming around his middle. “Is this alright?” 

“Yeah, s'good,” Jesse says after a second or two, covering Hanzo's hand with his and running his fingers over the thin scars there. He turns to press a kiss to Hanzo's forehead, catching a whiff of the man's shampoo. They mumbles their good-nights and settle into a rhythm of slow, steady breathing. 

Jesse stares through the dark, the streetlights outside mostly blocked by the blinds, allowing only the smallest sliver of light. He was years into living with Gabe before he managed to sleep deeply again, the good REM shit you don't get when you're on your guard at all times, never truly safe no matter where you go or who you're with. Now he just hopes to hell that he doesn't throw the poor guy out of bed in a flare of phantom pain, or strike out against the bloody figures in his nightmares. Hell, he might as well get a caution sign tattooed on his ass, give the poor guy a heads-up. 

Hanzo's face is outlined, features blurred into shadow. Jesse dares to trail his forefinger over the prominent line of his jaw. Hanzo mutters something, wiggles a bit but doesn't let go. Jesse feels a catch at his heart. He wonders if he'll leave quickly in the morning, if he can savour another kiss before then, if he can persuade him to stick around and smile at him a little longer. He realizes that no one's ever thanked him for saying something like that, and feels hopeful enough to let his eyes droop. 

***   
The lines and swells of Jesse McCree's body incite Hanzo to speed up and slow down all at once. 

The salt-taste of his skin leaves him thirsty, aching like a teenager when time and tired bodies don't permit more than lazy making out in a doorway. He's reaching into his nightstand far more often, outpacing his usual healthy but subdued libido. He grinds at the first go-ahead, trapping a gorgeous, happy man between his hips and the couch. The desire burns long and often between them, a shared look on the bus after almost too many rounds all that it takes to set it off, heat echoed in the grip of their fingers. 

It's markedly different from his previous experiences. Needy hours with young men who knew nothing about him and only wanted to be on his cock, which he was happy to oblige and sublimate his stress. He regrets little, but the initial brush of Jesse's sweet mouth along his arched neck is like his first taste of liquor, leaving him heady and wanting more. 

Their firsts are endless, indulgent in a way Hanzo hadn't been able to afford until now. A stilted education in the appropriate moment to dismount and remove one's prostheses. When Jesse gets his shirt off and mutters “Christ, you're cut like a goddamn action figure,” sending them collapsing into laughter. When he presses his lips to Jesse's ear and pants “I want to make you come, show me how,” and the moan of Jesse's answer. Slick, circling fingers taking their time. Quiet, constructive feedback in morning light. Cataloguing every spot that makes him beg like that again, while Jesse does the same, grinning with such unabashed delight when he succeeds. The sweat dripping down his back as he ruts. The scrape of a beard across his chest is phenomenal, an ecstatic heartbeat beneath his palm as precious as gold. 

Those shaky, sated moments, when he falls boneless to one side and they catch their breath, every slide of skin like a static shock, those keep him hungry. Make midday flirtatious messages seem fun instead of immature. The toasted bagels on the way out, the borrowed shirts, the tender hand cupping his hip, all bid him to return. 

If Jesse wants him like this, Hanzo decides as he straddles magnificently thick thighs one evening, a hand pulling his hair loose and rubbing the pain away, then he will gladly give himself over. He glimpses a lovely flush on freckled cheeks before taking a full bottom lip between his teeth. Jesse's flannel is undone and his chest is bared for the touching, hairy and good-smelling in that addictive, masculine way. That broad hand playing along his waist, his hardened nipples, squeezing his ass for the fun of it. Those lips on his again, so tender in their lust, so filthy in their words. His fingers find that atrocious belt buckle, fumbling until both their flies are hanging open, thighs locked together. He wedges a hand between them, palming the front of snug cotton boxers and squeezing, spurring him on- 

“That's my soft pack, babe.” 

Hanzo stills, blinks. “Right. I knew that.” 

Their eyes meet and they fold into each other, giggling helplessly. Jesse ends up on top, pressing him down as their hands explore every which way. He plants another kiss on him, grin bright in the multicoloured downtown light seeping through Hanzo's curtains, honeyed brown eyes so warm. The taste of him reminds Hanzo of racing around the summer house with Genji, foolishly sticking their faces in the stream and gulping cool, rushing water while the adults' backs were turned. 

Just as back then, he dives in for another drink. 

*** 

If anyone can make a last night's clothes, morning-after breakfast date look good, it's definitely Hanzo Shimada. Even the hangover dark-circles don't distract from that chest rippling under actually-too-cool-to-care couture. If he ever commits to getting another piercing, Jesse just might croak. 

Their bare arms stick to the plastic surface of the table, summer taking a last stab after a week of rain and shining on all their view of the parking lot. Their plates are stacked high courtesy of the cheap menu, and Hanzo is eating his food items one at a time, as he always does when he orders multiple dishes. Jesse finds it really cute, and only brings it up when he feels like getting on his nerves. 

Jesse sinks into the sagging bench seat, chewing his pancakes all thoughtful-like. It's this forgettable kind of pleasant morning that keeps him from quitting his jobs and moving out to a cabin in the woods. If a week's toil earns him this, well, maybe it's worth it. 

“I was curious,” Hanzo says, snapping him back to reality. The man's expression is pensive, hard to distinguish at times, but Jesse is picking up all the variations like a new vocabulary. “That comment you made about me being easier to trust, what did you mean by it?” 

Jesse sips coffee to clear his throat, and to buy him a second to remember saying that. They were definitely naked- right, when they talked about his night terror, last time. Fun stuff. “Ah, just that I didn't know other people I've been with from a hole in the ground. You kinda came with trust built in, being Genji's brother and all. Definitely a bonus.” 

Hanzo chuckles, smiling warmly and goddamn, how does this guy manage to look so stunning while doing nothing at all? The smallest grin and there's this glow shining behind his eyes- Oh, Jesse has it bad, real bad. He knows it, too. “Funny you say so, it was the same for me- ah, in reverse, I suppose.” He takes another measured sip of his tea, eyes lowering to the table. “Genji does not trust others easily. If he trusted you, I could, at the very least, be confident you weren't an axe murderer.” 

“Are axe murderers even a thing, nowadays?” Jesse snorts, switching his fork to his metal hand while he cuts up his sausages. “I know what ya mean, though. I consider myself pretty lucky to have earned that from him.” 

Hanzo studies him, expression turning soft, then distant and fond as he picks at his food. “Perhaps he's better off now. He was a little too trusting as a child.” He digs a large blueberry out of his pancake and pauses to chew, lips puckering with the sweetness. “Anywhere we went, he'd wander off and I'd find him chatting it up with a complete stranger- luckily it was usually a young woman working behind a counter.” 

Jesse snickers, popping a hunk of sausage into his mouth. “He didn't change much, then?” 

“Not really,” Hanzo smirks in turn and rests his chin on his fist. He keeps his eyes on his plate, something in his posture strangely relaxed. “This is when he was perhaps five or six, mind you. The cashiers would find it so funny. Me standing there scolding him like _I_ was the adult, and he would keep stomping his feet and yelling, ah- 'No, anija, she's my friend! Stop embarrassing me!'” An oddly unself-conscious laugh. “We must have looked so ridiculous.” 

Clouds pass by and the sunlight hits Hanzo from the side. Like Jesse isn't already gone, holy hell. He chuckles, taking another sip of the coffee that tastes like the can it came in. “I've heard him call ya that a few times, what does it mean? 'Big brother?'” 

“Hm, well- yes,” Hanzo straightens up almost imperceptibly and cuts a neat square from his pancake. “Our father encouraged him to call me that. It's a- very particular and old-fashioned way of saying it, but we were a particular and old-fashioned family.” 

“Ah, I see,” Jesse nods, taking up his fork again and lowering his voice. “It's alright, I know. Genji told me.” 

Hanzo's lips tighten against his teeth, pupils narrowing, thumbnail running quick along the jagged lip of the table. “How much?” 

“Well, I don't wanna say everything, 'cause that'd be pretty presumptuous of me,” Jesse mushes his hashbrowns around before scooping up a clump, savouring the bland salty crunch. “But about as much as I've told him about Deadlock, I'd say.” 

Hanzo's stare flicks to Jesse's left bicep, though it's covered by loose cotton. He had asked Jesse once, at the sandwich counter last summer while subtly eyeing him up in a tank top, and accepted the clipped, vague answer so graciously that Jesse never offered anything more. “I am surprised you would date me, knowing that.” 

There's a heaviness on the last word, the familiar inflection of an unexpectedly shared mother tongue. Jesse doesn't smile, though the corner of his mouth lifts and his words are as light as the fingers that reach out and trace where Hanzo's dragon ends at his wrist. “'Course, it's just another thing we have in common, isn't it?” 

An arch of a bushy brow, shoulders drawn up. The slow sweep of a half-smile and fingers pressing over his own. “I suppose you're right.” 

*** 

It's autumn when Hanzo finally finds that the word 'boyfriend' tastes right in his mouth. They're shopping together, and it feels natural, not like an imposition on Jesse's off-hours anymore. Trawling the downtown thrift store for wearable, non-slip shoes in Hanzo's apparently uncommon size. An extended stop at the tiny cell provider outlet to try and get a better plan so they can continue sharing photos without eating into their savings, complete with a few appreciative glances from Jesse but unsuccessful in the end. Their remaining coins are tossed up into the palm of a tattooed kid in a food truck, exchanged for onion rings that have no right to be as good as they are. They lick salt from their fingers as the sun dips down, leaving them in a haze of exhaust fumes and bugs. 

Jesse's attempt to commiserate over their paycheque-to-paycheque lifestyles invokes a rote response from Hanzo, one he's repeated to himself for ten years. That it's reparations for the lack of suffering in his youth. The easy life that wasn't deserved. He'll be a better person, perhaps, for facing the struggles he missed back then. 

Jesse laughs right in his face, head thrown back and leather lapels hanging open despite the chill that's pushed in after the little summer. “Darlin', you're a smart guy, but that's the dumbest damn thing I've ever heard you say. If you could just suffer yourself into being a better person, shit- there probably wouldn't be any sufferin' in the first place.” 

Their debate is fierce, pointed but smiling. Until Hanzo makes the mistake of romanticizing- though in the moment he thinks he's merely stating facts -gangs like Deadlock as somehow more honest, more justified than his own power-hungry kin. They're in Jesse's flat by then, the shop downstairs closed and the man only too happy to let him know how wrong he is, tell him a thing or two about _honest._

Hanzo expects the end, and yet it does not come. Liquor cools their blood instead of stirring it, ending up on their backs on Jesse's lumpy mattress, passing a flask back and forth. Jesse's stories pour out first as taunts, then mere retellings, then confessions. Days filled with grit and pain and following orders while kids his age went to their first parties had bettered nothing, saved nothing, except his ability to survive. 

Hanzo forces himself to look away from his own mistakes for once and turn towards Jesse, when memory opens and bleeds. Holding him is not initially welcomed, but slowly he finds his way across rumpled sheets. When he whispers apologies for his thoughtlessness, a little of Jesse's shine returns, covering with a smile and reassurances that he didn't know nothin' about it. Hanzo feels worse, and not for himself. 

He assures Jesse in turn, that he made the right choice in the end and that is more than most can say. He kisses the scarred stump, where the tattoo is barely recognizable, and murmurs gratitude that he lived. Backing off when Jesse shudders in pain, but he's simply too wrung out to properly weep. 

The sun comes up, to their amused realization. Jesse closes the blinds as morning noise rises from the street below and hauls the covers haphazardly over them. “When's your shift?” 

“Five, I'm on evenings again.” Hanzo has to smile when Jesse pulls him close like a body pillow. Their grey expressions match for a change. He is warm, his grip gentle, forgiveness in his sighing kiss and Hanzo regards him for a long moment. “This feels too easy.” 

Jesse's eyes slip back open, a hint of teasing laughter there. “Sure does, doesn't it?” 

*** 

Jesse's been feeling up Hanzo's freshly-buzzed sides for a good ten minutes by the time Hanzo lifts his head and shoots him a look. “If you're going to do that, at least scratch.” 

He does and Hanzo damn near purrs, melting more into Jesse's side. Their matching TENS machines working away on their stumps. Bless Angela's heart for finding the funding for 'em, even if he can't stand the feeling some days. The winter slush outside is wreaking havoc with their nerves, stinging and contracting at all the wrong times. Hanzo's couch is not the most comfortable, too old and soft, but the warm skin pressed against him lets him forget. He smooches his temple and waits for Hanzo to continue, the silences so long he wonders with each if he's finished for the night. 

“They never raised a hand to Genji,” Hanzo continues distractedly, still pushing into Jesse's fingers. “Probably because he'd tell our father straight away if they did.” A shift, and a small grunt to accompany it. “I used to think that made him spoiled. That I was more mature for taking it and carrying on.” 

“That's some cowardly bullshit,” Jesse leans back, debating on whether or not to turn his machine up again. “Playing fake-nice to your dad and pulling that shit behind closed doors, no wonder they had you thinking that way.” 

“Actually, they were doing it to him long before I arrived, and they kept at him, to a different degree.” Hanzo keeps his distant stare at the wall. “That was part of the deal. They got their digs in because they weren't in charge. If I could learn from my mistakes and eventually take over from him, I would own their livelihoods and that was how we won in the end, we got to decide everything. That's how- he always explained it that way.” 

“Can't blame yourself for believing him,” Jesse murmurs. The mere thought of one of the Deadlock lieutenants talking back like that- they wouldn't have survived, much less kept their sweet deal. “He was your dad.” 

Hanzo snorts derisively, not at Jesse. A spasm runs through his legs and he clenches his teeth before speaking. “The fact that he never dismissed me outright is what kept me believing. I thought if I could learn to do everything right, if I didn't complain, if I never faltered, I'd be like him someday- untouchable.” 

“Didn't work out so well, eh?” Jesse moves his hand to Hanzo's back, rubbing into the tense muscles there. “That musta hurt something good, to be led on and let down.” 

“Mm, not exactly. On some level, I always knew that who he was around others was who he had to be.” He pushes his face into Jesse's neck, his voice lowering. “At home- when it was the four of us, he was so- gentle. So soft-spoken and kind. Now at work, when I see fathers out with their children in the middle of the day, I think 'Oh, that's what he was meant for, he would have loved that.'” 

Jesse's hand skims back up Hanzo's spine, threading his fingers gently through the ends of his loose hair. “Of course, there's no way- I mean, there's no version of events that would have let him have that, it's just...” 

“It's a nice thought.” Jesse scratches his scalp again, leaning back a little awkwardly to press a quick kiss to his nose. Hanzo smirks at him, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “D'you have any pictures of him, still?” 

His eyes widen in surprise, always a little cute. “Oh. Ah-” 

“You don't have to show me, I was just curious-” 

“No, it's alright,” Hanzo fumbles around for his phone amidst the blankets. “Genji finally put them all on a cloud for safekeeping- here's one. See? Genji takes after him more.” 

“Boy howdy, does he ever,” Jesse squints at the shot of a man younger than they are now, with Hanzo's grey streaks and two grinning boys crowded on his lap in some picturesque locale. “Jesus, do you have biceps? Did you benchpress in kindergarten or what the hell?” 

“No! I was an active child,” Hanzo chuckles, turning his phone back and flipping through. “Genji was too, he just had baby fat- Here, another good one, but don't laugh at it.” 

Jesse laughs immediately, hearty and loud. “Oh, that is precious. Way to work those short pants, honeybun, very fashionable.” 

“It was our uniform! We didn't dress like that on purpose!” Hanzo smacks his ribs, getting one back in retaliation, but they're both grinning. The timer dings and Hanzo turns the machines off, removes his pads and then attends to Jesse's, massaging the hellish-smelling muscle relaxant into his arm with the same complete focus he gave to the birthday card he'd recently crafted for Amélie from fine paper, glue, and ink. 

“What would he have thought of me?” 

Jesse swears he glimpses a buffering icon above Hanzo's head before he looks up with an impish smirk. “He would have written me out of the will on sight.” 

A sharp, satisfied bark of laughter. “Good.” 

***

At Jesse's place, Hanzo half-melts into the couch, the refreshing breeze carrying early summer into the flat. It still borders on chilly, which suits him just fine. He can sit with Jesse's legs laying over his lap, the weight of him so good and grounding despite the other man's fears of being too heavy. He runs his fingers over the seams of Jesse's jeans, fitting his recently filed nails along the edge, while Jesse stretches his back against the arm and flips through their shared streaming account. 

The suggestions page is a bit documentary-heavy courtesy of Hanzo's recent true crime marathon. Jesse is getting hooked on them too, the two of them often finding themselves wrapped around each other and dozing to narration of blood spatter analysis and physical anthropology. A clip from some tug-at-your-heartstrings TV special on foster care autoplays and Jesse winces, tapping away quickly. “Ugh, I can't watch that shit.” 

Hanzo looks up, rubbing Jesse's knee soothingly. “Too close to home?” 

“Not really,” Jesse pauses his scrolling to fiddle with the remote. “It's not so much a trigger as an excess of empathy, I 'spose. I see kids like that and I keep thinking about how fucked they are. It bugs me.” 

Hanzo puzzles for a moment, knowing that whatever he says won't be quite right, because he doesn't know nearly enough, but silence is worse. “You turned out well, though.” 

“'Cause my ass got damn lucky with Ana,” Jesse chuckles, tilting his head back to scratch at his neck, the beardscruff there making a pleasant noise in the relative quiet. “Bless that woman, honestly. Ten times as patient as I deserved, but she took none of my shit, either.” 

“I can see it. I wouldn't want to make her angry,” Hanzo snorts. He'd met the woman Jesse intermittently calls 'Ma' at Fareeha's Eid party last year. Nearly as tall as Jesse, bearing an eyepatch and a tattoo as souvenirs of living in interesting times. At once able to command the room by presence alone and to make whoever she was listening to feel like the only person there. Jesse's deference to her soon showed itself to be out of admiration and not mere fearful respect, but perhaps it had begun that way. 

“Oh god yeah, I made Fareeha cry once, and you best believe I never did that again,” Jesse shakes his head, feigning a shiver as he laughs. “Put the fear of God into me without ever raising a hand, she was really something- is, I should say.” 

“Did the other foster parents hit you?” Hanzo asks, throwing his eyebrows up at Jesse's banal nod. “I thought that was illegal.” 

Jesse directs a borderline condescending look at him, but it's rather deserved. “You really think that stops anybody?” 

Hanzo chews on his lip, throat turning tight and nauseated. Jesse returns to scrolling, humming some tune and his whole pose so relaxed it's either genuine or the most practised put-on. He gives his mind a moment to catch up, always a beat behind in these situations. “It's completely fine if you'd rather change the subject, but how old were you when they, er-” 

“Removed me? I was- eh, five? Wasn't in school yet, that's all I know,” Jesse settles on a movie they had caught part of at the laundromat one day, dropping the remote on the side-table and propping his head on his hand. Hanzo's nails dig subtly into the denim on his own legs. Jesse had already answered the why, spilling vague memories across the pillow on a sleepless, hot night to answer unasked questions. The dark, perpetually damp house that was full of people. Eating dry cereal out of the box for dinner. The needles he and a neighbour kid were playing with in the yard before the child's father found them, marched them inside and made a phone call in the kitchen while the mother let them eat peanut butter crackers at the table. 

Hanzo could trace his father and mother's lineages back for multiple centuries, some of the records were in the prefectural museum. Jesse has a glancing memory of a man who looked a little like him living in that dirty house, plus an inconsistent explanation for why he went to prison and never got out, and a newspaper story about a young woman with his freckles and hair driving off in the pouring rain and never coming back. Over years, he created a self out of the pieces laying around him, similar to what he did with his car when the engine started rattling. Hanzo's identity might as well have been typed and handed to him at birth. 

“When did they put you with Ana?” 

“I was 'bout sixteen, peak pain-in-the-ass age,” Jesse snickers briefly before he looks over at Hanzo. “Hon, it's fine. Nothin' to get worked up over now, okay?” 

Hanzo takes a deep, cleansing breath as Jesse rubs his hand. His brain hates when things don't fit together. His early years are probably to blame, because the world is full of jagged edges. It isn't news to him and yet, the unfairness of it all cracks him wide open. That Jesse thinks it's he who should be reassured now- 

“It's not okay,” Hanzo replies, firm to hide the anger, because the anger isn't for Jesse. He shifts closer, cups his cheek as carefully as he can and finds confusion in those kind eyes. “I'm sorry it took so long for you to be loved. You are so good, you deserved that so much sooner.” 

Jesse's eyes widen slightly in surprise before narrowing. He turns away, seeming to reject the touch, and pushes his fist to his mouth. The flickering light of the screen catches on the tears gathering, the whites of his eyes flaring red. He swipes at them quickly, his voice a hiss. “Shit.” 

“Oh, Jess, it's okay,” Hanzo leans in to take the man in his arms, fitting them together. He cuddles him close, Jesse's face wet against his neck. He strokes and soothes while the movie plays dully on, trying to return that same feeling of security to one who deserves it so much more. “It's okay.” 

*** 

The silence cuts through their new home like a scar. Jesse's messily unpacked half a box of washcloths and shower stuff before he gets sick of it. Kicks the box into a corner and shuffles reluctantly back to the kitchen. The itty bitty house is still a box city, nothing on the walls but paint and the floor all dirty from them, Fareeha, Angela, and Genji stomping in and out all day. Hanzo stands at the sink in the dated yellow kitchen, rigorously washing the five or so dishes they had used for pizza. Hanzo's always productive after an argument, always doing something. Jesse takes it personally when he's still running hot, like it's some defiant act of look-at-me maturity on Hanzo's part. 

“Listen, Han,” Jesse starts a bit lamely, leaning back against the stove and crossing his arms. “You- I don't want it to keep getting to this point, alright? Making yourself miserable doesn't help anything.” 

“I apologize,” Hanzo replies mechanically, scrubbing every inch of a seemingly clean dish. “I shouldn't take my stress out on you, it's unfair. I'm sorry.” 

“I appreciate that, but that's not exactly what I mean,” Jesse sighs, sweeping his sock foot over a scratch in the linoleum. “We both know that this isn't gonna get better until y'deal with the source.” Protracted silence, broken by the buzzing of the hanging lamp overhead. “I know how it is, makin' things ugly just 'cause you want outside to match your inside, but I sure as hell don't want that for you. I want you to feel better.” 

Hanzo continues his silence, his circles slowing to a crawl. Jesse sucks a breath in and steps closer. “Maybe you could ask Zen if he has any counsellor friends who-” 

“There's no point in that!” Hanzo snaps, turning around and squaring up, hands still sudsy. “Therapy only works if you're honest, and if I'm honest about my past, I'll end up in jail! Is that what you want?” 

“Of course it isn't-! Hanzo, they only report shit if you're gonna hurt somebody,” Jesse drags his hand through his hair, trying to keep his tone level. “Nobody cares about you skimming casino money or whatever. I've told Athena way worse.” 

“But I- you have that- immunity thing!” Hanzo waves his hand, frustration red in his ears and sparking in his eyes. “It's not like it would accomplish anything. It's pointless- handing over all your private thoughts to some stranger with a degree.” 

“Oh, so I'm just wastin' my time, then?” 

“I never said that!” Hanzo barks, then visibly reins himself in, breathes through his nose and looks Jesse in the eye. “I already told you, I will watch my tongue in the future. I feel bad enough-” 

“You feeling bad doesn't do sweet fuck all,” Jesse cuts in, teeth bared and the tightness back in his throat. “For me or you or anyone, so knock the high-and-mighty act off and _do something_ for once.” 

He turns on his heel, takes his cigarillo package and a lighter out back. That was another tip, not from Athena, but from the one therapist he'd actually tolerated in his teens. Leave before you say something you can't take back. He flicks the ashes onto the grass of their slim backyard, grinding them under his boot in case of embers. Takes his time, does the mindfulness thing where he just focuses on the feeling of the smoke in his mouth and lets his thoughts pass, no judging or engaging. The guilt seeps in anyways. 

The kitchen is dark when he reenters, but Hanzo's monitor paints the living room pale blue from the corner where it sits. Their big furniture is set up at least, and the internet guy already came. He types away as Jesse passes, purposefully not looking up. He's working on one of the distance ed courses he shells out a little tuition for every semester, something called typography this go-around. Jesse doesn't totally get how it works, but Hanzo's finished pieces have looked damn good, though he doesn't seem to be making much progress on this one, a mess of jumbled letters on the screen. 

Jesse stops and comes up behind him, setting his hand on the back of Hanzo's neck and rubbing the pale pink skin there. Hanzo flinches back and he withdraws, resting his hand on a t-shirt-covered shoulder instead. “Hey, sorry for bein' a little harsh. I want you to be happy-” 

“No, you're right.” Hanzo pushes the keyboard tray in and rubs his eyes like he has a migraine. “But I feel sick just thinking about going and talking to a stranger so- intimately. I don't know what to do.” 

“That's okay,” Jesse dips down to kiss the crown of his head, Hanzo's eyes still covered. “I was talkin' to Athena and she said you might prefer more self-help type stuff-” 

“You told her about me?” Hanzo whips around, anger and fear flashing in his tired eyes. “What have you said?” 

“Nothing that private,” Jesse holds his hands up, using a pointedly not-defensive tone. “Just, y'know, life n' relationship stuff. Nothing I wouldn't tell 'Reeha.” 

“But you told her about when I act this way,” Hanzo's jaw tightens, eyes lowering and voice completely losing its edge. “She must think I'm awful.” 

“Hanzo- baby, look at me,” Jesse cups both his cheeks and tilts his face up, mindful of the metal joints and Hanzo's goatee. “No one thinks you're awful.” An exasperated kiss to his forehead, sweet and short. “Except you, which is kinda my whole point.” 

That gets a tiny laugh, and Jesse kisses him again, though it doesn't ease his pinched expression. “Mondatta offered the use of their library to me, maybe they have something suitable there.” His frown deepens as he tugs Jesse close, pressing his forehead to his belly. “Will it be enough?” 

Jesse blows out a sigh, stroking the back of Hanzo's head. “Ask yourself that, sugarbean.” 

*** 

“-Like, four semis piled up or some shit, so we're gonna be a little late,” Jesse huffs, ending his rant as he navigates the snow-covered side-road. “But we're on our way.” 

“Always something at this time of year,” Gabriel's raspy tenor crackles through the phone Hanzo's holding up to Jesse's face. “Drive safe and we'll wrap your dinner up, alright? Take as long as you need.” 

“Alright. See ya soon, Dad.” 

“See you soon, and don't call me Dad,” Gabe says flatly before hanging up. 

Hanzo tucks Jesse's phone back in the centre console and returns his hand to his thigh, thoughts temporarily departing from whether the Christmas gifts he bought for everyone are sufficient or terrible. “You two do that every time you talk on the phone, is it a reference to something?” 

“Heh, nah, not really,” Jesse grins, gaze fixed ahead as the snow continues to fall soundlessly around them, another car's rear lights like two glowing eyes in the distance. “I guess when he adopted Olivia, she asked if she had to call him 'Dad,' and he was like 'Eh, just call me Gabe.' Then it became a thing, we only called him 'Dad' if we were bugging him.” 

Hanzo chuckles, leaning back in the seat and unbuttoning his wool coat. The Jeep's heating is dodgy, veering between too hot and barely on from moment to moment, but he's starting to sweat. “When did he officially adopt you?” 

“When I was nineteen. We basically got in under the wire so he could take me as a 'dependent child' when he moved up here to be closer to Jack-” Jesse stops, half-smiles and points a finger in Hanzo's direction. “You definitely did not hear that from me, mind you.” 

“Hear what?” 

Jesse snorts, glancing back to catch Hanzo's smirk. “I was 'dependent' way longer than that, 'course. Lived in the basement we're gonna be sleeping in for years 'cause I kept being a fuck-up.” 

“You weren't a fuck-up,” Hanzo says with conviction. “It's normal for young people to live with their family, saving up takes time.” 

“Easy for a rich kid to say,” Jesse scoffs. 

Hanzo's mouth twists into a small scowl. “That was unnecessary.” 

“Ff- sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I just-” Jesse flexes his shoulders, metal hand tightening audibly around the steering wheel. “I just feel so goddamn behind, y'know? Everybody else our age has their shit together already, and I'm still at the figuring things out part.” 

“Jesse,” Hanzo pauses, hand over his heart, theatricality in his tone. “Am I not living proof that not everyone our age has their shit together?” 

They both bust out a laugh, easy and weary. Jesse shakes his head, smiling. “I get what you mean, but, still. I'm already getting lapped by folks younger than me. Doesn't feel great.” 

“I know,” Hanzo replies with feeling, leaning in to very carefully smooch Jesse's whiskery cheek. “Do not be discouraged. You take remarkably good care of yourself and those you love, you're clever, and you're very responsible, in some senses of the word.” A quiet chuckle between them. “There is much to admire in you, don't concern yourself with what others are doing.” 

Jesse shoots him the soppiest of looks, his answering comment stolen by an alarmingly deep pothole. Danger averted, Hanzo tunes the radio to the station with the least static and leans on Jesse's shoulder. The repetitive Christmas tunes keep their spirits up until they pull into Gabe and Jack's driveway. 

***

The both of them struggle with sleep on the regular, from vices, bad dreams, inconsistent schedules. Separately in early adulthood, they took to reading in bed to try and bring the tiredness on. Now they do it together, and Jesse never knew sitting in silence with someone could feel so good. 

Sometimes Hanzo is too restless to read, his eyes sore from a long day. On impulse one such night, Jesse starts reading to him. Hanzo had occasionally chuckled at his summaries of whatever book he was on, but now is silently rapt as Jesse reads from his paperback Western. A bit tropey, but well-written enough to make it worthwhile, held tight in the plastic book holder Zen had so kindly gifted him for his last birthday. After a few chapters, he shuts the book and is surprised to find Hanzo still awake, eyes wide from where they peek out of the stolen covers. “That was 'sposed to put you to sleep.” 

“Well, you didn't do a very good job, now did you?” Hanzo laughs when he's gently walloped with a pillow. 

Soporific qualities aside, he finds himself reading to Hanzo almost as often as they read together. Jesse's selections are usually newer releases from the library, or twentieth century classics bought for a couple bucks at the secondhand store, often favourite re-reads. They get through 'Cannery Row' in two nights, Hanzo glued to his hip and eyes shut to drink his voice in. Faulkner knocks him out, but given his recent deadlines, that's fine by Jesse. He indulges in 'Charlotte's Web' for comfort's sake, and they're both the better for it. Though Hanzo forever fibs about getting weepy over a spider. 

One weekend- because of course it's their mutual weekend off that they made plans for -Jesse gets smacked down with the flu. The feverish, fully-congested, necessitating a trip to the ER to make sure it ain't strep-kinda flu. Hanzo worriedly frowns but says no more as he bags up used tissues, cajoles him into eating vegetable soup, and presses cool compresses to his brow every hour. Attempts at apologies are met with shushes and getting tucked in before he temporarily retreats to his hand sanitizer and computer. 

Without prompting that first weary evening, Hanzo settles into bed and reads to him. His usual preferences are ebooks in his mother tongue, old thrillers, and novels meant for slightly younger adults that he seems slightly embarrassed to enjoy. In Jesse's cough syrup haze, his ears latch on to Hanzo's measured, low voice reading from a collection of short stories by some old Italian guy that are seriously weird and apparently about math. The next day, he reads from a book of poems borrowed from the Shambali library, the kind written so sensuously as to leave Jesse craving the energy to at least sit up without getting dizzy so he can kiss that mouth, though Hanzo would likely rebuff him in his current state. When he's more alert, Hanzo reads microfiction from his phone, but only the ones that will make Jesse chuckle. 

“I love your voice, sugar.” 

Hanzo's lips curve on an amused smile. “That's good, given that we live in the same house.” 

He does not read when he thinks Jesse sleeps, he sings instead. Under his breath at Jesse's side, hushed around the house as he cleans in anticipation of another week, distractedly in the kitchen as he cooks their first full meal in a couple days. As deep as his speaking voice, but less brusque, a near-innocent confidence to every note. 

Hanzo's reading a small hardcover in the kitchen when Jesse stumbles in, elbows on the counter and that perfect ass sticking out. He actually manages a weak wolf whistle, and Hanzo turns to fondly glare at him, thick eyebrow arched. “Feeling better, are we? You can help with the dishes, then.” 

Jesse hiccups a laugh, stepping closer to embrace him and sweep his hair back, every inch as beautiful in Jesse's stolen shirt and ratty blue boxers as the first day he laid eyes on him. The sound of his “Mm, love you, too,” the very best thing Jesse's ever heard. 

***

Even on their busiest weeks, Hanzo and Jesse stick religiously to their workout regime. Hanzo prefers his boyfriend's company to the fluorescent blandness of gyms any day, free to jog alongside him in the park with less fear of what will happen if one of his prostheses gives out. Daily frustrations are stretched and burned away. Hanzo ponders his freelance pieces and patron commissions, leaving Jesse to his own thoughts, the pair free to come together once their cool-down is done. 

“Why do you wear your shorts so high?” Hanzo asks, drying his face on the inside of his blue tank top. Summer snuck up hot and early, the blazing sun and humidity making the air sticky. “You look like an old man.” 

“Says the one wearing sweatpants damn near old enough to vote,” Jesse snorts, pressing his fist into the base of his spine and working it hard, voice tight. “They cut down on the jiggle factor. Haven't been able to lose this since I hit thirty. Guess I'm stuck with it.” 

Hanzo finishes re-stacking their weights beside the couch and notes Jesse's annoyed scratch of his belly at 'this,' though the revealed sliver of skin from under his t-shirt is intensely distracting. Pictures Fareeha and Olivia posted for throwback purposes revealed a much leaner, almost stringy young Jesse, followed by many years of works-hard-for-his-money muscularity. At once he understands why such a change would be upsetting, but also doesn't understand how Jesse can look at his reflection with any distaste. 

“I should hope so,” Hanzo finally says, pushing up to his feet and coming to encircle Jesse's waist with his arms. He sinks into the softness of his partner's bulk, laying his cheek on a damp, supple chest, pulse still audible from their exertion. “Your body is like comfort itself, and holding you feels like home.” He lifts his head, stretching to kiss the scruff of his jaw and rub his cheek there. “You are perfect.” 

Bordering on saccharine, but true. Nothing is so soothing as having Jesse in his arms, the strength and heat of him ever-present and just right, the enticing scent of clean sweat wafting up as they stick together. Jesse's hand slowly comes to cradle the back of his skull, tucking him even closer under his chin. Hanzo hums and kisses his Adam's apple, feeling limp and happy. 

His hands slowly slide down to the plush, nylon-covered curves of Jesse's ass, squeezing hard where thigh becomes buttock. He feels a little puff of laughter, then Jesse bends to do the same with his own hand, gripping firmly and lifting Hanzo up with a grunt. 

It's a practised move between the two of them now. Hanzo's arms slide over Jesse's shoulders to hold himself up, his thighs squeezing vice-tight above his hips as crossing his ankles is impractical. Jesse backs him up to an empty space on the cool drywall, pressing him up hard so they can pull apart and kiss. Chapped lips, a little sloppy, tasting of electrolytes. All his weight resting on Jesse's sturdy frame, invoking both fearlessness and arousal. 

Jesse leans back first, staring up at him with fire banked in those pretty eyes, close enough for Hanzo to count every splotchy freckle on his cheeks and shoulders. “Hey.” 

Hanzo's lips curl on a pleased smile. “Hey yourself.” 

*** 

“You know what's really annoying?” Jesse calls as he comes out of the bedroom, clad only in pajama pants. Hanzo looks up from the couch with a muffled questioning noise, mouth full of macaroons. “They tell you in fifth grade or whatever, 'oh when you're a teenager you're gonna get zits and have these ugly spots on your face.' They never tell ya that you're gonna get them everywhere, forever, and that they fuckin' hurt.” 

“The education system continues to fail us,” Hanzo drawls after swallowing, examining Jesse's shoulders when he sits. “Oh, these are bad. You get so many blind ones.” Hanzo drums his fingers, drawing back when Jesse flinches from a little flicker of irksome nerve pain. “Wait here, I have something that might help.” 

Hanzo pads off and returns with a fistful of colourfully-printed packets and a wet cloth. “Some company mailed Hana a bunch of face masks. The last time I was over, she threw them at me while shouting 'Behold, share in the perks of being a lady on the internet!'” 

“Pft, she's so funny,” Jesse laughs, obeying Hanzo's gesture to sit on the carpet between his legs. He lets his head droop forward as Hanzo smears the cold, slimy substance over his acne-covered shoulders and upper back, the tea tree smell making his eyes water. “S'weird, I never got them there the first time I went through puberty.” 

“Maybe it's a testosterone thing,” Hanzo hums, squeezing more green gloop onto his skin. The chilling autumn rain picks up outside, pouring noisily from their porch eaves-troughs. “Genji and I got it on our chests and backs in high school. His was bad enough that he apparently kept his shirt on while losing his virginity. Not that I needed to know any of that, but it's burned into my brain forever now.” 

Jesse snorts a laugh. “That guy, I swear. I'm guessin' you didn't return the oversharing favour?” 

“God no,” Hanzo snorts, cold fingers working in earnest. “Honestly, we weren't talking much by the time I was in university, and I couldn't have told him about Yoshitaka, not back then.” 

“Ah, right,” Jesse clicks his tongue, recalling Hanzo's cringing retelling of his first stumbles into sexuality with his calculus tutor. “Was that a proper crush, or was it just about the blowjobs?” 

“I tried to convince myself it was the latter,” Hanzo chuckles disparagingly, the couch shaking against Jesse's back. The mask tingles as Hanzo's flaking fingers skim along his old scars. “He was quite cold to me initially, he was to everyone. The only scholarship student in his grade, his family lived on a farm up north and he spoke with a thick accent. He was not treated well, even by the teachers.” 

“But you charmed your way into his heart?” Jesse chimes in, tilting his head back and grinning as Hanzo's fingers comb idly through his overgrown locks. 

“Hardly,” Hanzo scoffs, pulling Jesse's hair back with his palms. “I treated him as I would anyone else. After our third session, he suddenly apologized to me, for assuming otherwise and being rude. He told me I was ' a very kind person.'” 

“And then 'Dreamweaver' started playing while fireworks went off, right?” 

“Hush,” Hanzo bends to kiss his forehead, humming briefly against his skin. “I hope he got to become a doctor after all, and that he's happy. We didn't keep in touch after his graduation.” 

Jesse smiles, scooting around to lay his arm across Hanzo's thighs. “You ever get to kiss him?” 

“No- well, kind of. Once, when we got drunk up in my rooms after final exams. It was just-” He brushes his fingers together quickly in demonstration. “Nothing, really. But then he rolled over on the futon, both of us laughing at nothing, and said, ah- 'You're a good guy, Shimada-san. You'll be alright.' Then promptly passed out.” Hanzo shakes his head at himself, smiling wryly. “I swear, I spent half the night laying awake thinking about how badly I wanted to hold him, just for a few seconds.” 

“But you didn't?” 

“Of course not, we weren't gay.” Hanzo's flat expression lasts for three seconds before they crack up, Jesse's cheek against his thigh as they shake. Hanzo leans forward, briefly covering Jesse with his undershirt-covered warmth before coming back, the cool slide of the cloth scrubbing gently across his upper back. “It's hilarious, looking back now, but at the time it was almost excruciating.” 

“Oh yeah, of course,” Jesse chuckles, letting himself half- sprawl over Hanzo's lap as he's cleaned off, a pleasant, minty sting spreading across his shoulders. “Least yours was nice, my first boyfriend's most redeeming quality was his car and his willingness to help me skip.” 

Hanzo's hands still on his back. “Was he the one who got grabby with you?” 

“Yeah, but I hated school more than that pig,” Jesse sighs against Hanzo's pajama shorts. “Didn't stay there long, anyway. That's why I settled for so much at that age, when it's 'just for now,' your expectations sink.” 

“Regardless, he's lucky to be so far from here. I'd cut his hands off and make it look like an accident.” 

Jesse chokes on a laugh. “Babe, c'mon.” 

“I'm serious.” 

“I know you are!” Jesse snickers as Hanzo finishes scrubbing him up. “No reason to get wound up, that was then.” 

“You deserved better, then and now.” 

Jesse shakes his head, the dulled memories coming back but no longer biting at him. “I didn't know how good I could have it 'till I got with you.” He looks up, resting his chin on his forearm. “You really raised the bar for me, darlin'. Gone and ruined me for all other men.” 

“You always exaggerate.” Hanzo flushes, chuckling and rubbing the washcloth between his fingers to stim. Jesse hums contentedly and lets his cheek slump to Hanzo's thigh. Damp fingers come to brush through his hair again. He could almost fall asleep like this. 

No one was ever this careful with him, he thinks with a small lump in his throat. None of them cared and neither did he, but oh, he wanted to, would fall in love over shared cigarettes. Stupid and desperate until he learned enough to give up and take a decent lay if he could find it. Never expected a friend's brother to show up and validate every fantasy, every ideal he teased himself with knowing they'd never come true. That it was too much to ask, to want- 

“Come to bed, my love,” Hanzo whispers, stroking his skin and kissing his crown. Smiling so beautifully when he lifts his head. “Come on, up. I'll rub your back.” 

That Hanzo thinks he exaggerates does bite at him, because no one else has ever made him feel so _enough_ and all he wants is to give that back to him. 

*** 

The whistling winter wind barely muffles the cacophony of dogs barking and howling as they pull up to the animal shelter. The inside smells of life, urine, and kibble. Hanzo observes a wall of cat cages through a glass door as a young, multiply-pierced volunteer bops up and greets them. After a few standard questions, Jesse asks to see “the stupidest-lookin' dog you've got, please.” 

After a moment of chin-tapping, the volunteer grabs a leash and leads them down a hall of cages. Hanzo tries to stare ahead, or else he might come home with six more dogs than their backyard and wallets can handle. A cage is carefully opened and a dog whose nose reaches Hanzo's knee bounds out, slobbery tongue lolling and half its fur gone. 

He's introduced by some generic shelter name, part German Shepherd is their guess but they aren't sure. A stray, maybe three or four months old, found skinny and shivering in someone's shed with a nasty case of mange. He's been cured, but needs to keep the rather adorable red sweater on until all his fur grows back. Jesse and the volunteer continue chatting while Hanzo cautiously kneels, letting the excitable pup lick his hand to soaking before he tries to pet him. 

The dog pants like he's run a marathon, tail banging against the cage door and head pushing into Hanzo's hands as he gently ruffles his ears and neck. What's left of his coat is a mess of black and brown, white splotched on his legs. He keens and tries to clamber onto Hanzo's lap, but the volunteer pulls him away with considerable effort. 

“He's _very_ affectionate,” they add, slightly strained and grinning as they pat his rump to settle him. “Normally stray puppies are anxious, but he's been super needy since we picked him up. He loves everybody.” 

“Oh,” is Hanzo's only reply as he stares back into piercing blue eyes. He's clearly been let down by humans more than once. Abandoned outside so young, with winter coming, likely harassed for getting into yards and eating garbage, but still so trusting. So sweet despite all he's been through, only desiring another chance. He tightens his jaw to keep the tears back. This is as bad as those stupid dog-owner reunion videos that Genji sends him when he _knows-_

“Do you like him, Han?” A familiar grip on his shoulder. He nods, unable to look up when the pup goes in for a facewash. Jesse laughs and turns back to the volunteer. “We'll take him!” 

A test walk and paperwork is followed by a trip to the pet store, where they spend perhaps more than strictly necessary given the hefty adoption fee they split between them. As soon as they open the Jeep doors, their newest addition bolts for a puddle of melted snow and muck at the end of their driveway. Rolling in it with great enthusiasm and looking back at them with something like pride as they stare at the brown slush dripping from his entire body. 

Stopping by the groomer Jesse works for isn't an option since an incident involving his coworker and her vicious Chihuahua put an end to free baths for staff pets. Jesse calmly leads him into the bathroom only to yell as he races out, whining and tracking mud over the floor Hanzo is still cleaning. Multiple return attempts prove the pup more slippery and stronger than his twenty-pound frame would indicate. 

The solution, at least this time, is for Hanzo to sit on the floor of their shower in his boxers, holding the dog around the ribs with both arms as Jesse rinses him with the showerhead. Hanzo asks if the water is warm enough while the animal whimpers and thrashes, concerned for his irritated skin. Jesse looks at him blankly and aims the showerhead at his face. Hanzo threatens his life and limb, as soon as he gets his legs back on. 

Later, after the dog is towelled and re-dressed in a new sweater, they lay on their backs on the floor, batting his energetic body and a rope toy between them. Jesse has always been around dogs, Gabe still owns the Lab mix that had kept him company lo those many nights after he got fired from his waiter gig. He's comfortable roughhousing with him, whereas Hanzo is more tentative. His mother's allergies reduced his dog experience to occasional encounters with a stranger's friendly pet. It borders on absurd, how enamoured he is with this mass of muscle and fur and drool, but every new quirk or display of affection seems infinitely adorable. 

“He reminds me of that show your brother made me watch,” Jesse tugs on a mostly-white front leg, laughing when his hand gets mouthed. “The dog with the metal leg, I forget its name.” 

“Ah, Den,” Hanzo blinks with recognition, continuing his rubbing of a bare, pink belly. The pup kicks his back leg, voicing his contentment and chattering like a husky. “Is that your name? Should we call you Den?” 

“I like it,” Jesse grins, planting a couple smooches on Den's snout. His smile softens, blurry at the edge of Hanzo's vision. Both uncomfortable but unwilling to get up as the pup keeps rolling between them. “I'm so glad we perverted some pack of wolves into brainless, loyal marshmallows.” 

Hanzo snickers as Den nearly twists himself into a knot in his over-excitement. “Agreed.” 

“Ain't nothin' better than a dog,” he continues, patting Den's wide chest and making it echo. He's going to be big, he'll eat them out of house and home but he'll be so much fun to walk, with a little training. “No matter what kinda day you've had, you get back from doing the worst thing you ever did, and a dog's gonna lick your hand and bring ya a toy to throw.” Jesse reaches up to tug at Den's ears, briefly blocking his face. “Stupid little cuties.” 

Hanzo lowers his eyes, focusing on the parting of mottled hair between his fingers, rashy skin beneath. “Yes, very stupid.” 

*** 

“Effort deserves reward,” Hanzo had insisted while helping him with his necktie. But nothing in the past couple months feels like effort to Jesse. It feels like dumb luck, like sitting in offices and filling out endless paperwork, like making a seemingly stupid decision while everyone claps him on the back for it. 

It occurred to him around the third sit-down in the employment office that he's never quit a job with a letter and a see-you-around. He usually fucked around until he got fired, or flipped a table on his way out, then waltzed into the next one. Gabe never had time to get mad at him, he usually only found out if Jesse begged a ride to work and would pull an expression between exasperated and impressed. Didn't waste his time on a lecture, he was a good guy like that. 

Jesse always made do, one way or another. Never gave nobody nothing to worry about, because he was the only one counting on him. 

But this apprenticeship business has him worried indeed. It isn't even the classroom stuff, he'd done pretty damn good on his GED back in the day (top of the night school class, thank-ya-very-much), and he knows how to fix stuff, not everything, but he learns quick. Angela's got all the mods for his arm worked out, even, they look pretty cool too. Nope, it's the handsome gent in front of him that's got him nervous, all nicely pressed and buttoned up, sternly forbidding him from picking up half the cheque before the hostess even seats them. 

The menu at the little exposed-brick and piano music place is what Fareeha would call “bougie as hell,” but the descriptions of the food make his mouth water. Hanzo orders scotch that definitely costs a hundred bucks a bottle and lifts a toast, a smile on his slender lips. “To the man who will soon be making the buses run on time.” 

“Heh, I dunno about on time in this city, but they will be running.” Jesse clinks his glass and takes a sip. Sweet Jesus, he needs this. 

“True enough,” Hanzo chuckles and takes another swig, throat bobbing with it. Jesse wishes he was unwound enough to get horny, especially when those pale brown eyes meet his and glint with mischief. “So, on a scale of one to ten, how much does it burn your ass that this pays more than your last two jobs put together?” 

“Eleven,” Jesse replies flatly, tongue stuck in his cheek. He swishes his glass, feeling stiff in his job interview duds, the nicest clothes he had available on short notice. “I'm gonna need you to help me read through the benefits package later, I don't get some of the legalese stuff.” 

“Benefits?” Hanzo stills, leans closer. “I thought those would kick in after you got properly hired?” 

“Nope, they start in three months, provided I don't get the boot.” 

“You won't,” Hanzo insists, folding his hands and almost making Jesse laugh. The perfect businessman in his only suit, hair tied neatly back and an avaricious gleam in his smile. “So is it a full package?” 

“Seems like it. Dental, meds, glasses,” Jesse rubs one eye, already sore in the candlelight and eagerly awaiting the last one. “Pension wouldn't start till I'm hired for real. But I do get paid vacation still. Maybe we could save up a bit, go somewhere?” 

Hanzo blows out a breath, steeples his fingers, and shuts his eyes a moment. “Jesse, I have to be honest with you. I am hard as a rock right now.” 

Jesse wheezes a laugh, barely stifling it and drawing a couple stares. “Does this make me the sugar daddy for a change?” 

“If you're ready for that kind of responsibility,” Hanzo drawls with a smirk, light playing across his high cheekbones. “And you get a raise when the apprenticeship is over, right?” 

Jesse sucks his teeth, taking another sip. “I mean, I'm not a hundred percent but that's the expectation, yeah.” 

“We could buy our house,” Hanzo says, almost detached, running his nails along the edge of the distressed wood table. “We could actually retire. Jesse, this is-” 

“Look, I haven't even started yet, can we not do this?” 

Hanzo stares back in confusion. Jesse massages his forehead, a migraine building behind his eyes. “Sorry, just- this dinner and everything- I know you're used to this shit, but I'm not.” 

“Used to what?” Hanzo's tone is sour, his eyes narrowing. “I've hardly been a big spender in recent years. I wanted to do something nice for you.” 

“No, that's not what I'm talking about-” Jesse digs his fingers into his neck, metal hand balling into a fist against his trousers. “I mean, doing well. It's- I've never done more than get by, y'know? I don't know how I'm 'sposed to feel about any of this.” 

The lines in Hanzo's face soften to realization and sadness all at once, Jesse's not sure if that's better. He tightens his lips to nearly nothing, visibly puzzling over his words. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have sprung this on you. I know big gifts like this make you uncomfortable-” 

“No, Han- it's okay,” Jesse reaches over and clasps his hand. “I don't mean you can't ever treat me, that's not it. It's just-” Jesse pauses to chew on the inside of his cheek. “I feel like everybody's lookin' at me, expectin' something- and I'm gonna mess up and let all of you down-” 

“You won't.” Hanzo squeezes his hand fiercely. 

“But if I _did,_ ” Jesse scoffs and looks towards the window, distant shadows of people lingering under the awning out front. “It's not just me I'd be fucking over anymore.” 

Hanzo studies him for a moment, a hint of a smile curving his mouth. “In that case, shouldn't you be angry with me for letting Hana talk me into proper freelancing?” 

Jesse chuckles, remembering the young woman holding Hanzo's cheeks and sternly reminding him that he is an asset that gets more valuable with each job while covering all his own overhead, so he better damn well ask for what he's worth or so help her- “Hell no, it's what you're meant for, and you bust enough ass to make it work.” 

“And so will you,” Hanzo beams, bringing his other hand to cover Jesse's. He lifts Jesse's fingers for a quick kiss, before thinning his lips again. “I'm sorry for getting over-excited earlier, that was very self-centred of me.” 

“Nah, s'alright. It's- nice to do something worth bein' excited over,” Jesse chuckles, smoothing his hair back. “I'm sorry for holding all this in. I just- I really don't know where I'm going from here.” 

“You and I both,” Hanzo smirks and leans in, waving Jesse forward with a mildly impatient gesture that makes him laugh. They share a brief, sweet kiss in the relative privacy of their corner table. “But even if everything goes to hell tomorrow, this is still a nice night for us to enjoy, and I'm still very proud of you, Jess.” Another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before they retreat. “You're going to do so well.” 

Jesse stares back into that tenderly smiling face, and comes dangerously close to proposing right then and there, only for the waitress to appear with their plates, heaped and steaming and smelling delicious. Jesse's stomach rumbles outright, urging them on though they're hesitant to disturb the perfectly arranged meals. One forkful and he nearly chokes on the cascade of flavour that hits his tongue. “Holy shit, I think this is the best thing I've ever put in my mouth. Does duck always taste this good?” 

“Let me try,” Hanzo accepts Jesse's proffered forkful and chews, eyes nearly popping out of his head. “God, that's good. Wait, try mine- do you like tuna?” 

They end up sticking around for dessert. Jesse politely ignores the cheque when it arrives and they leave with arms linked. Sharing a longer kiss in the warm evening, on the way to the car and the rest of their night. 

*** 

Den lurching out of a sound sleep and vibrating beside Hanzo's computer chair can only mean one thing. Hanzo chuckles, snapping his fingers without looking away. “Go get him.” 

He charges to the door, nearly running Jesse down despite their attempts to enforce the no-jumping rule. Hanzo hears Jesse cooing and loving him up, struggling to remove his boots and shearling jacket. His eyes focus on the screen, lines blurring together as he lays down flat colours on a mediocre illustration job. Jesse's lips land on his forehead, the scent of him faint, no grease today. “Hey, honeybee, bad day?” 

“No, what makes you say that?” Hanzo looks up, hair hanging in his eyes. Jesse points to the floor, where Den has dropped every toy in the house in a semicircle at his feet. Hanzo feels his ears burn. “Ah. It's nothing, really. I- hit a wall earlier and pushed through, I'm fine.” 

Jesse hums and stoops down, grabbing one of Den's least slobbered-upon stuffed animals and holding it up to Hanzo's face. “Why don't ya tell Duckworth why you're sad, hm?” 

Hanzo forces a scowl and tries to lean away. “Jesse, stop it.” 

“C'mon, you can tell him anything. He's here to listen.” Jesse grins and pushes the ragged, absurd-looking toy against Hanzo's cheek. 

“I'm serious.” 

“Okay, fine,” Jesse pretends to take it away, only to swing back and squeak it sharply in his ear, sending him flailing. 

He catches himself before the chair tips, glaring but unable to suppress his laughter. Den tip-toe dances around them, mouth hanging open and huffing until Jesse tosses the toy for him. “You are an exceptional pain in my ass.” 

“You love it,” Jesse sets himself on the edge of the small metal filing cabinet Hanzo picked up from a rummage sale for his invoices and tax receipts. “So what's the matter, sweetheart?” 

“I'm fine, honestly,” Hanzo turns a warmed amazonite stone over and over in his hand, a gift from Genji. One of many sitting in a neat row on the shelf above his monitor. The texture soothes the ache in his joints. “Today is the anniversary of my mother's death. I don't know why, but it's hitting me a bit hard this year.” 

“Aw, Han,” Jesse waves Den away and leans close to cup his boyfriend's cheek. “I'm sorry, I forgot.” 

“Don't apologize, it's not yours to remember,” Hanzo covers Jesse's hand with his own, eyes shutting for a moment despite the iciness of his fingers. “I had hoped it would ease with the passing of time. Maybe I'm not as mature as I thought I was.” 

“Death fucks with everybody, ain't got nothin' to do with maturity.” Jesse's thumb sweeps over his skin. “Any reason why it's buggin' you more this year?” 

“None that I can think of,” Hanzo turns his head, scratching at his neck. “Since I woke up, my mind keeps treating me to the image of her in the morgue. The more I try not to think of it- well, you know.” 

“You saw her like, right after-?” Hanzo nods, and Jesse's voice is nearly choked. “Sweet Jesus- why the hell did they force that on you? You were a _kid._ ” 

“No, I was finishing university by then,” Hanzo sighs at the sweep of rough fingers through his hair. “I was with my father when he got word- if he'd had a moment to think, he would have sent me home, but it's not like I spoke up either.” He tightens his grip on the little rock, focuses on his breathing, which is what he's done for most of the day. “Before we went through the door, I told myself to be ready to see the worst thing I could imagine, and it was worse.” 

Jesse's embrace swallows him up, sliding him onto the sturdiness of his lap with ease. “C'mere- I know, it's okay.” Hanzo's nose tickles at the brush of a flannel collar. He doesn't have to explain it to Jesse, he's seen much worse, much younger than Hanzo. Not on his mom, he would probably add as a caveat. 

“I'm so glad Genji wasn't with us, I couldn't bear the thought of him carrying that around.” Though his nightmares are surely no less distressing, the pair of them cursed with vivid imaginations. Kaa-san had blamed their father's genes for that when they were small and wholly convinced of the ghosts in their room. “He called me a monster after that, for not crying, said I only cared about myself.” 

“Well, he sure doesn't feel that way anymore,” Jesse huffs against his scalp, laying another kiss there. “Have y'talked to him today?” 

Hanzo shakes his head. “He might not remember the exact date, I'd hate to bring that on him if he doesn't. You've seen how he gets.”

“Yeah, but I can pretty well guarantee that's not the case,” Jesse's tone is kind, if slightly unreadable, as he rubs Hanzo's stiff lower back. “Don't wanna tell you what to do, but it isn't good for either of ya to sit and suffer alone.” 

Hanzo nods after a moment, considering. Jesse pulls back to kiss his eyes. “Say, how do you feel about rice and beans, a stiff drink, and 'Tombstone?'” 

Hanzo smiles weakly, overcome with fondness. “How do you always know exactly what to say?” 

“One of my many secret powers,” Jesse grins and lightly taps Hanzo's nose. 

Hanzo finishes up some essential emails, frowning at the day's amateurish linework. He stands to stretch as Jesse returns from the bedroom, beloved red serape in hand. Their house is slightly chilly, Hanzo as stubborn about the thermostat as he is about everything else. Jesse tugs the well-worn, woolen fabric around his shoulders, a comfort object if there ever was one. 

Hanzo steps into the the span of Jesse's arms, pressing himself as close to the heat of his body as he can. “Mm, you're my huckleberry.” 

Jesse chuckles affectionately, smooching his cheek repeatedly until Hanzo orders him through laughter to cease. They end the evening on the couch, lights off and Jesse laying comfortably atop him, snoring softly against his sternum. Den lays in a similar position on the floor, ears up on guard and snuffling happily whenever Hanzo reaches down to pet him. The text he'd nervously sent off before dinner is returned when Genji arrives home, and they exchange gradually larger blocks of text while the movie plays on in the background. 

Jesse wakes up during the credits, confused and grumbling until he pushes himself up. “Oof-Sorry, darlin'. Dunno why I'm so tired.” A kiss, dry against his lips. “Are you alright if I head to bed? I can stay out here.” 

Hanzo shakes his head, stroking Jesse's sleep-flattened hair. “It's fine, we're just talking.” Another lengthy text comes in, his eyes latching onto it instead of Jesse's curious face. He can hear Genji's voice- his current voice, so eloquent and sensible at times like this. “About many things. I might call him. Will that keep you up?” 

“Nah, s'all good,” Jesse slurs, kissing him again before staggering to his feet. Den happily takes his place on the couch. “See you in the morning, darlin'. Look after him, y'dumb mutt.” 

Den whuffs in reply, making Hanzo chuckle and scratch his ears. He settles back into the hard arm of the couch, tapping out an answer and listening to the wind and distant cars outside, serape still warm around his shoulders and a little whisky left in his glass. 

*** 

It's sentimental as hell, but Jesse's love for the night sky stretches back as far as he can remember. Maybe it's from spending so much time out in the sticks, in tiny towns that boasted a 7-11 as their biggest luxury, or further out in the desert where city lights can't touch the endless purples and blues, pinpricks of white and the occasional glimpse of a planet. 

“I still don't- ah, there it is!” Hanzo says, slightly triumphant, having been squinting and twisting his neck for several minutes. “So that's Venus?” 

“Mhm, and the other one's Mars.” Jesse waves his metal hand towards another bright dot, then tugs their quilt up higher. The bed of the rented pick-up is just big enough for a mattress borrowed from an old friend back at the ranch in Santa Fe. It makes for a tight fit, but given the temperature drop after sunset, they're content to snuggle up close. 

“Impressive,” Hanzo smiles over the high collar of his black jacket, his body folded neatly in the crook of Jesse's arm. “Did you want to be an astronomer when you grew up?” 

“Nah, didn't really know all that much, I just liked looking at 'em.” 

Hanzo hums, distractedly running his fingers over Jesse's ribs. “What did you want to be, then? I was quite set on my sentai ranger aspirations for a few years.” 

Jesse snorts, immediately endeared by any image of Hanzo as the cute kid he once was. He searches for an answer and comes up completely blank. Not so much as a half-forgotten idea to show for it. “Nothing, I guess. I never especially wanted to be anything.” 

“Not ever?” Hanzo asks, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Not even a cowboy?” 

“Heh, maybe when I was real little, but no,” Jesse keeps his eyes on the stars. “First time I remember thinking about the future, I was already in care. Runnin' away at recess 'cause kids were messin' with me, calling me names like I didn't know what they meant- one day, I just looked at my life and felt- done. Didn't care if I lived or died anymore, I'd just do whatever I felt like until it was all over.” 

Hanzo's voice is low, breath hot against the cool skin of Jesse's neck. “How old were you?” 

“Seven or eight,” Jesse murmurs, tonguing a chip in his back molar. “Never been good at stickin' dates to stuff like that.” 

“How long did you feel that way?” 

“God- 'till my twenties, basically, and that's optimistic,” Jesse rubs his chapped lips together, his mind connecting the thread from memory to memory until it becomes the sense-making narrative it definitely never was. “S'why Deadlock liked me so much, never was scared of nothin' 'cause I didn't give a damn about what happened to me.” He swallows, audible in the quiet. “Not all that normal, y'know, to wake up while gettin' stitches and feel completely ambivalent about the fact you woke up at all.” 

Hanzo's hand grips his where it rests on his stomach, firm and careful. “You're shaking, love.” 

Jesse purposefully blows out a breath, watching the steam dissipate into the night air. “Sorry, I didn't mean to- I've never told anybody that before.” 

Hanzo balks. “Not even Fareeha?” 

“Definitely not,” Jesse replies, intertwining their fingers atop the heavy blankets. “She had her whole life planned out, and I was so damn smug back then. Sat there lookin' down my nose at her like 'just wait, kid. You're gonna learn that you don't get to decide that shit for yourself.' Acted like that for years, I was such an asshole.” 

“No more than any other teenage boy, let's keep it in perspective.” The two of them share a rough laugh. Hanzo eventually props his head up, catching Jesse's eye. “Did they know how much you were hurting?” 

“Eh, not exactly, but they basically knew what my deal was from day one,” Jesse releases Hanzo's hand to root around among the layers for his cigarillo case. “Didn't wanna make anybody worry, so I never said much about that stuff. Always felt like Gabe was onto me, though.” 

Hanzo huffs an understanding sigh. He lights the cigarillo for him after a few failed attempts, settling his hand back over Jesse's heart and cuddling closer. The desert feels small for a moment, like they're in a weird little snowglobe, isolated and outside of time. “Can't help but wonder how much of me is still that stupid, scared kid all ready to give up, and how long he's gonna stick around.” 

“Perhaps he always will,” Hanzo replies after a moment, the thin moon chasing the stars above. He tips Jesse's chin towards him, gentle as anything, handsome eyes shining with earnest intensity. “But I see so much more in you, even on your worst days. Maybe that part of you remains because the rest of you is strong enough to protect and look after it now- the same way you do everyone else. The strength of your heart always astounds me.” He leans in for a slightly messy, lingering kiss, and brushes Jesse's hair back with his fingers. “Should you ever feel that low again, I will keep reminding you of that until you remember.” 

Jesse's chest feels abruptly light, like when he'd suck on helium balloons at Fareeha's birthday parties to make her and Olivia giggle. A laugh comes tumbling out, fond and breathless. There's a purity to Hanzo's expressions in these moments, not childish, but at odds with the nonchalant screen he keeps up for most people. “Goddamn, darlin'. You are just too cute sometimes, you know that?” 

The intense, loving stare scrunches into a wrinkled nose and half-smile. “Don't call me that.” 

“Why the hell not?” Jesse runs his hand along the strong curve of Hanzo's side, cigarillo tight between his teeth. 

“Puppies are cute, children's toys are cute,” Hanzo rolls his eyes. “Middle-aged men are not cute. The rest of the world agrees with me.” 

“You are too, and I'll tell the whole damn world about it,” Jesse pulls himself up on the side of the truck, hollering into the dunes and cacti. “ _My boyfriend's cute!_ ” 

“Jesse! For god's sake,” Hanzo yanks him back down like he isn't laughing too. “What if you attract someone's attention? I left my knives at home.” 

Jesse grins, smacking a kiss to Hanzo's cheek. “Like who? There's nobody out here for miles!” 

“That's the kind of attitude that gets people killed in horror movies,” Hanzo sighs, yet still he smiles. There's not much Jesse wouldn't do to keep on seeing that smile, whether there's a glare attached to it or not. 

*** 

Summer nights are the best for dancing, the windows wide open and their clothes and joints loose and comfortable. At least, so Jesse claims when Hanzo goes for a glass of water while the speakers are on and gets scooped into a two-step. Not that he's actually complaining. 

Hanzo's prosthetic limbs forever feel like shadows of his youthful agility. He still avoids the dance floor at the spontaneous, flophouse-style gatherings their friends favour. He feels clunky and slow despite practice to appear otherwise. But in their living room, with Den slurping his water in the kitchen and the coffee table pushed into a corner, it's irrelevant. Jesse's arms come around him just the same, metal hand on his hip and flesh hand in his own, stepping and spinning and dipping. Jesse is fond of slow songs that wander, soft melodies he croons into Hanzo's ear as they turn endlessly. 

He lifts his face from Jesse's chest as one song bleeds into another, arms looped lazily around his neck. The strawberry lemonade-tinted sunset stretches over their yard and paints him in sharp shadows. Hanzo's drawn him like this many times, posed on the couch or out on the porch swing before it broke. Jesse's the one model he never tires of, capturing his likeness again and again in pencil and ink. Every strand of hair, every strong curve and soft divot, every beautiful inch of him with Jesse's permission and patience. Jesse's brown skin glows in the evening light, smile as blinding as a white sand beach. Dressed in holey jeans and a blue-check cotton button-up Hanzo purchased for his birthday last week, hanging open at the collar and hair all a mess. Somehow twice as sexy as the rare sight of him in formalwear. 

They lean in for a lazy kiss, a teasing slip of tongue, then another brushed across his brow and Hanzo feels his pulse flutter, after this long. It's ridiculous. But then, Jesse often says that's one of his middle names. 

Another track comes on, the one Jesse's recently dubbed 'their' song. The one that gives Hanzo pleasant chills. The one so perfectly suited for Jesse's deep voice. He lets himself be held close, a simple box step dragging their feet across the recently replaced carpet, around and back again. Hanzo could happily spend the rest of his days curled into a strong chest, his senses filled with this man and the rest of the world shut away. 

He nearly whines when Jesse tugs them apart, snickering at him as he's spun outwards and pulled back. Hanzo looks up then, finds those stunning eyes staring back at him with so much love, a little sly, childish- as if he's got a wonderful secret and no interest in sharing it. It hits Hanzo like a fist to the gut, winding him in the next moment. 

Jesse notices, too close for Hanzo stamp it down in time. His eyes burn much too quickly and his partner is immediately worried, a broad hand at his jaw. “Hey, sugar, what's wrong? I'm here, you're alright.” 

Hanzo shakes his head. He always does this. All the techniques and pills in the world can't stay these surges of heat in his throat. When he gets hit hard and doesn't have time to process it or even understand what's happening. It takes him back to feeling like a useless child again, and he hates it. At least this time, he knows its cause. 

He inhales, hot air stinging the inside of his nose. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do this now. It's only- I just realized how close I came to never having you, or this. Any of this.” 

Jesse's knuckles brush over his cheek, scars from years of breaking noses and bones fuzzy in Hanzo's vision. “What d'you mean, darlin'?” 

“Do you remember what you told me in New Mexico?” Jesse nods, silent in quizzical concern and Hanzo chews on his lip, infuriated with his own selfishness. “I wanted to tell you then, but I couldn't. It's just that- I've felt that way as well.” He looks at Jesse's shoulder, too much of a coward to say it even to his lover's face. “The first time I saw Genji after the crash. I decided that if he died, I needed to die too.” 

A barely-there, aching sound pushes from Jesse's chest. He strokes Hanzo's back, making him twitch as he fists his hands in Jesse's shirt. “Even when he lived, I considered it for years. But I couldn't let him see me like that, or have it used against him in some way.” His throat tightens traitorously, voice turning reedy. “He doesn't know. Please- don't ever tell him.” 

“Like I would,” Jesse scoffs, bordering on outright insulted by the suggestion. He tips Hanzo's chin up, his eyes serious and sad. “What brought all this up, honeybee? D'you- still feel that way?” 

“No, not at all. But there's so much of our life that I love and-” Den drops a stuffed lobster at their feet, thumping his snout against Hanzo's thigh and whuffing. Hanzo laughs dryly and wipes the wetness from his eyes. “Yes, including you! Damned attention hound.” A pang of guilt cuts through him when he pushes the whimpering pup away and looks back. He presses his face to Jesse's neck, feeling ugly and laid bare. “Sometimes, I realize how easily I could lose you, lose everything. Knowing I already came so close- I get scared. I get so fucking scared.” 

He realizes he's shaking faintly when Jesse holds him tighter, in silence but for Den's chattering and the speakers still playing. Jesse's hand cradles the back of his head, his voice strong in Hanzo's ear. “Listen, darlin', you're not wrong. It scares the hell outta me too, sometimes. But you're the best thing that's ever gonna happen to me, I ain't lettin' go of you that easy.” 

Their kiss tastes of salt, bruisingly soft and reassuring for both of them. Hanzo hums, kisses Jesse's cheek and aches at the glimpse of dampness in his crinkled eyes. “Sorry for having a panic attack, vomiting my emotional baggage onto you, and ruining date night. Again.” 

“Pft, didn't ruin anything, sweetheart,” Jesse snorts and leans into him, dropping his hand to pet a distraught Den. “I want to know when you're feeling like this, 'cause-” Jesse's lips find his temple, voice buzzing against Hanzo's skin. “'Cause if we can talk about this stuff, then maybe we don't have to be so afraid.” 

Hanzo shuts his eyes and takes in a breath, heavily scented with Jesse and the muggy breeze from outside. He has tried for so many years to not ask too much, keep his desires small, and once again he does not succeed, lifting his raw eyes to a handsome face. “Are you sure you want to know everything?” 

“All of it, all the time,” Jesse grins, his usual teasing swagger returning. “Especially when you think it'll scare me off.” 

Hanzo's laugh comes out as a raspy hiccup. He catches Jesse's cheeks before he can dip down for another smooch, staring into his confused eyes, almost demanding. “I want the same from you. I want to know you, always.” 

“Okay,” Jesse softens, kisses Hanzo's eyes, his mouth again. Den abandons them, claiming the couch for his own while they slide hands beneath each other's shirts, their touches almost possessive. “And darlin'?” 

Hanzo pulls back to find laughter in Jesse's gaze as he runs his thumb over his bottom lip. “I meant what I said, I'll fistfight the Devil himself to come home to you.” 

*** 

Jesse returns home, one of their big camping backpacks slung over his shoulder and stuffed full of groceries. He beats the wet snow from himself on the porch and hurries in, Den helping by licking wherever he can reach. The Brothers Shimada are stretched over the couch, bundled in hoodies and woven blankets from down South, Hanzo playing some dark, gorey monster game on Genji's system that's been haphazardly set up on their coffee table. “Hey guys, how was physio?” 

Twin zombie-like groans crack Jesse up as he bends to kiss Hanzo hello. “Y'all want spaghetti for dinner?” 

“God yes. No parmesan on mine, please.” 

“Me also- What the hell? The water kills you?” 

Jesse chuckles and leaves them to it, setting water to boil and shelving groceries. He whistles an old tune as he works, half-listening to the two natter at each other in Japanese. The mutt patiently waits for his nightly neck ruffles and dish piled with the chicken and rice Hanzo batch-cooks every Sunday without fail. Jesse laughs when he offers a tiny meatball in his palm and Den swallows it whole with the most polite, furtive lick. “Just between you and me, alright?” 

Genji's conked out, limbs wrapped around a throw pillow when Jesse sticks his head back in the living room. Hanzo turns the game off and waves him away. “Let him sleep, he has an exam tomorrow.” 

“Oh right,” Jesse nods, carrying on setting the table. “How many credits does he have left any- Hanzo?” 

“Six, I think,” Hanzo replies, still rooting through Genji's jacket where it hangs on the coathook. Finding his wallet, he retrieves his own from his back pocket, removes a twenty and slips it into Genji's. 

“What the hell are you doing?” 

“What?” Hanzo looks up, almost miffed as he replaces Genji's billfold. “I just got paid again, it's nothing.” 

“I'm not worried about that.” Jesse throws up an eyebrow, watching his boyfriend purse his lips, then quickly unzip Genji's hidden inside pocket and tuck a ten into it. “How long have you been doing this?” 

“Since we found each other,” Hanzo shrugs and takes his seat. “He won't accept it otherwise, I've tried.” 

Jesse pauses in scooping spaghetti onto his boyfriend's plate, recalling literal years of his friend's complaints of being so scatterbrained that he finds money everywhere, money he doesn't even remember losing in the first place. “Should ya really be forcing it on him if he doesn't want it?” 

“I know it's not ideal,” Hanzo replies, twirling his spaghetti around his fork hungrily despite his tired eyes. “But I can't help resenting his having to work and go to school at the same time. He never got to enjoy the student life I had, so I'm making amends for that, in a small way.” 

Jesse fills his own dish, considering the dozen or so things he could say in response. That descriptions of Hanzo's early adulthood never sounded all that ideal. That Genji is less a carefree college kid, more a man in his mid-thirties with a fiancé and a full-time job. That his brother is going to throw a holy fit when he finally catches Hanzo doing this, and learns how long courtesy of Hanzo's own blunt honesty. Instead, he sits and leans over to quickly smooch his partner's cheek with a sigh. “Oh, bless your heart.” 

Genji wakes not long after, struggling to life and hoisting himself up on his crutches. “M'hungry.” 

“Come and eat then,” Hanzo calls over his shoulder. “Before it gets cold.” 

“Don't be an ass, you ass,” Genji grumbles and joins them, passing on compliments to the chef immediately following his first enormous bite. He relays one of many funny work anecdotes, the kind of bizarre and typical customer service experience that that runs the gamut of disbelief, amusement, and disgust. It's the telling that keeps it funny instead of crazy-making. 

Genji's got an electric energy to him, no matter his mood, and Jesse enjoys it, feeds off it at times like Hanzo does. He's a world away from their first meeting in Angie's waiting room, when he was scruffy from head to toe, so skinny that Jesse was sure he was on something, and aiming a blood-freezing glare at any attempt at friendliness. Genji's since cut up ID cards from that time, deleted photos from when their group first formed, and not for his own benefit. Jesse would chafe at playing secret-keeper for both of them if they didn't have identical, fairly justified reasons. He loves them both too much to stay mad over it. 

The brothers do the washing up, Genji insisting on helping as usual even though they disagree on methods. They laze about for some time after. Hanzo tucks himself against Jesse's side and stealthily sketches his brother while his eyes are glued to the TV, able to look at him best through the mirror of pencil and paper, like the Lady of Shalott. His mark-making is attentive, confident, discerning. 

Jesse chastely kisses Hanzo's temple while Genji shouts something at the soccer game. He swears he can see Hanzo's internal wheels halt before he looks up, curiosity quickly changing to affection. He smiles blissfully, looking up at Jesse like he's so wonderful and good. A quick kiss is pressed to his cheek in turn, before Hanzo settles back against his side and resumes his sketch, distractedly answering Genji's commentary on the sad state of affairs before them. Jesse rubs his hand up and down the warmth of Hanzo's arm, positive that there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to write this collection of stories for way too long, finally got it out of my craw so I can move on to other fics. Hope you enjoyed it! It was a lot of fun to put all these details I've imagined about their relationship into one place. Good god, I love writing about how much these two love each other.   
> Listened to 'Drummer Boy' by the Misterwives on repeat while writing this, makes for an excellent McHanzo song with a pronoun switch, IMHO   
> I've written Hanzo as autistic throughout the series (slight self-insert on my part, eheh), but I feel like it's a bit more prominent here. He's never been diagnosed, but those he loves appreciate his quirks and needs and he's grateful even if he doesn't have a name to put to them.   
> Thanks again for reading! I hope you're all doing well, wherever you are!


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